


Rock Me Yourself

by swtalmnd



Category: Inception (2010)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Eames' Stupid Cupid Exchange, First Time, Lots of Butt Stuff, M/M, Power Bottom, Rimming, Rock Star AU, Service Top
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-02-12
Packaged: 2019-10-26 16:57:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,616
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17749847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swtalmnd/pseuds/swtalmnd
Summary: A pop princess, a prog rock bassist, and a metal guitarist walk into a recording studio...Arthur and Eames turn musical tension into sexual tension and end up in bed. Ariadne wins the bet.





	Rock Me Yourself

**Author's Note:**

  * For [deinvati](https://archiveofourown.org/users/deinvati/gifts).



> Deinvati prompted me with "Yeah? Make me!" and I combined that with a prompt generator of "Fuck you!" "Fuck me yourself, you coward!" to make... uh... this. I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> Thanks to Dr. QT for cheerreading, kate_the_reader for her excellent beta, and oceaxe who helped me pick this AU over the other AU.

"This motif is over and done now, Arthur. We don't need to keep fucking repeating it," said Eames, frustrated and just about ready to break his guitar on the floor like the metalhead everyone thought he was. He absently patted the guitar, silently reassuring it he'd never do such a thing.

"That's the fucking point, Eames, jeez. It keeps coming back around when you don't expect it to, like, like Penrose steps." Arthur ran his hands through his hair again, mussing the once-gelled strands into new configurations of curls.

Eames huffed. "It's already come back around. If this is meant to be my big solo, I want to do something interesting!" Eames jabbed his hand at their hasty notation, not quite a written-out song, not quite not, something they'd all three had a hand in though so far Ariadne had stayed out of this particular argument, watching from the drum riser in judgmental silence.

"So you're saying you can't make a motif interesting?" said Arthur, fingers silently stroking the strings of his bass. That bass was famous, handmade just for Arthur out of some rare-as-fuck wood, polished on the bollocks of virgin boys or some shit.

Eames snorted. "I'm not the one here with no imagination," he retorted, all up in Arthur's face and getting a whiff of cologne and sweat. "You're being a stick-in-the-mud."

"Says the man who can't manage to turn out a guitar solo on one complex motif." The little bastard stepped back and played it on his bass, plucking the strings, making it into a whole new sound with the same talent that had landed him in a supergroup with Eames in the first place.

"Oh, fuck you," said Eames, throwing his hands up.

"Fuck me yourself, you coward," Arthur shot back.

"Yeah? Make me," said Eames, crowding back into Arthur's space, faces close and breath hot.

A crash of cymbals startled them both, and they jumped apart. "All right, boys, that's it. I am really tired of your sexual tension turning into musical disagreements." Ariadne gave them both a completely unamused look from behind her drum kit. "Eames, you can write the fucking solo on the motif, it's just one song."

"Yes, dear," said Eames, glaring not at her but Arthur, who was flushed and panting and bloody gorgeous, the bastard.

"Now, you two go fuck it out," she said, gesturing to the door with her drumsticks. "If you find enough stamina to need an extra day, text me. Otherwise I expect you to be here with your panties un-twisted at the usual time tomorrow."

Arthur coughed a laugh into his arm. "I don't think that's really-" he began, though he was settling his bass onto its stand for the guitar tech to anoint with the tears of broken-hearted fans or whatever precious maintenance it required.

"No, she's right," said Eames, figuring he could be the bigger man in this one case. "You said to come over there and fuck you, and I'm no coward." He put his guitar on its own stand and strode up to Arthur, grabbing the back of his neck and pulling him down into a very hot kiss. "Your room or mine?"

"Yours," said Arthur. "We can sleep in mine after we ruin your sheets."

Eames couldn't help but laugh, slinging an arm around Arthur's waist. "Practical. I like that."

"You like me," replied Arthur dryly. "See you tomorrow, Ari. Sorry about this."

She waved them off, already buried in her phone. "You can give me all the prurient details tomorrow to make it up to me."

Arthur chuckled. "Not if you're going to put them online."

Ariadne smirked. "No promises."

Eames took that for a very good point to exit and tugged Arthur toward the door. "Don't wait up, pumpkin!"

"Fuck him like he deserves!" she called, getting in the last word as the door closed behind them.

"So," said Arthur, once they were out in the hallway. "Are we actually doing this?"

"Arthur," said Eames, his serious face on for once. "I will play your motif as many times as required if it means I get to worship your arse. I have been staring at your arse for your entire career. I have had entire dreams that centred around that arse. Please, please tell me I can fuck you now."

Arthur blinked, blushed, blinked again, and then kissed him hungrily. "I am going to ride you hard and put you away wet," he said, his grin all teeth and vicious glee. "You can be on top the second time, but I want to watch you under me while I take every inch of your famously big dick."

Eames smirked and allowed Arthur to steer them outside to catch a cab to their hotel. "You've seen the Playgirl spread, then."

"I've masturbated to the Playgirl spread," said Arthur, completely unselfconscious in the way that drove interviewers nuts and fans wild. The doorman shot them a startled look, then shrugged and flagged them a cab. Arthur tipped him.

Eames managed to find his tongue once they'd settled into the car. "Every bad outcome of that magazine shoot is now forgiven," he said earnestly. "Also, I need to send your tailor a giant basket of expensive Scotch and flowers."

"She'd like that," said Arthur. "I bet Saito would arrange it, and also did you know there's a betting pool about when we'd get together?"

Eames gave Arthur a sly look. "I was aware, but Ariadne wouldn't let me put in."

"We'll make her buy us fancy dinner with her winnings," said Arthur, "because I am absolutely certain she had today."

They were still chuckling about the various matchmaking attempts they'd endured when the cab stopped in front of the hotel, and suddenly the air between them was charged with a very different energy. Eames paid and headed inside, leading the way though he had a feeling Arthur knew exactly which room was his, the same way he'd got Arthur's number.

Arthur wasn't so uncouth as to maul him in the elevator, more's the pity, but Eames got in a good grope as they stepped out onto their floor. "Good thing I came supplied," said Eames, half to himself, striding to his door, pulling out his keycard as he walked.

"Another good reason to use your room," said Arthur wryly. "I'd probably have to send down to room service for anything more than a blowjob."

"Hm, well, we'll put that on our agenda for morning sex, then," Eames purred, huffing when the door clicked over to green on the third try. He really hated these locks. "My famously big dick is at your service, pudding pop."

Arthur paused. "No," he said. Eames must have looked alarmed, because he followed up quickly with, "No pudding pop, yes dicking."

"Fair enough," said Eames, flicking on the lights. "Let's get set up and settled in for a properly comfortable fuck, shall we?"

Arthur pulled him into a kiss, hand sliding along Eames' throat and jaw and back up into his hair. "Are you going to take good care of me, Mr. Eames?"

It took Eames a moment to find his voice. Arthur had very strong lips. "Of course I am, I'm a proper gentleman in the bedroom." He gave Arthur a kiss of his own, big hands stealing into Arthur's clothing, seeking warm skin.

"Ozzy in the streets, Jeeves in the sheets?" teased Arthur between kisses.

Eames purred. "You like the idea of a service top," he said, pleased that he wouldn't have to pretend it was anything other than what it was. "Bringing you cool water, warm flannels, and hot cock on command."

Arthur laughed into his mouth and kissed him again, harder, the hand in his hair gripping. "It suits me perfectly," he said, eyes heavy-lidded and possessive. "Get the bedroom set up while I undress. I won't make you do both today."

"Tomorrow, the bedroom will already be set up when you get here," Eames promised. Power bottom, he should have known. Probably had known, deep down, with the way Arthur took pride in taking charge, and in wearing very closely tailored trousers.

Eames took himself off to the bedroom; they were in an almost modest suite, for a rock star, but it had been years since he needed the kind of space you could hold a party in. They were here for business, so he'd only required enough privacy to conduct interviews and meetings in a room without a bed. And for him to pull himself together while he turned back the covers, got lube and condoms set out, and tossed the ridiculous decorative pillows back in their corner of shame. He made sure the bathroom was ready for any sort of after or during, stripped himself naked, and went out to the wet bar to grab two bottles of water and, he hoped, whet Arthur's appetite for his half-hard cock.

Arthur had stripped down somewhat while Eames was busy, his feet bare, belt off, shirt open, and cuffs loose. His waistcoat and jacket were hanging in the closet by the door, shoes lined neatly beneath in a precise manner that made Eames just want to fucking wreck him.

"Ready to ride the night train?" said Eames, trying to sound light when he felt anything but.

Arthur snorted. "Does that work on groupies? I mean, I know there's that song, but seriously."

Eames huffed but he couldn't hold back a small laugh, which turned into a proper one when Arthur joined in. "God, it fucking well does, you know it does."

"I do, christ, I once picked up," Arthur was laughing almost too hard to talk, "twins, fucking twins, quoted, fuck, stupid two hearts song."

Eames laughed harder, leaning on Arthur now, his nervousness draining away as he was reminded of all the good things about the two of them, from the amazing songs they'd written to the in-jokes they were already telling before they even got to the studio proper. Ariadne might have been the one to put the group together, but Arthur and Eames had worked together brilliantly despite the disagreements. Or maybe because of them, too ego-invested in the end result to back down on their artistic vision without a compelling argument.

When he finally wound down, Eames found himself nose to nose with a grinning Arthur, and it was easy as anything to draw him into a kiss, to press himself close and enjoy the brush of warm skin and fine wool against his own nakedness.

"I believe I was promised something about a hard ride?" said Eames, his voice a low purr of confidence now, and his prick getting back with the program. "Your boudoir awaits."

"Asshole," said Arthur fondly, kissing him again, letting Eames lead him to the bedroom. He took over once they were there, pushing Eames down onto the bed and kissing him, tossing his shirt aside and straddling Eames. Arthur's hips were narrower, his thighs spread wide over Eames' muscular body, but his leanness had a beauty of its own.

His thighs were a work of fucking art, pressing against his well-cut trousers, flexing under Eames' curious touches.

"This is a wonderful place to be, my petal." Eames found his way into Arthur's trousers, purring when his fingers encountered fine silk. "What do you have under here?"

Arthur chuckled. "It's just boxers," he said, leaning down to kiss Eames, sprawling over his chest like he belonged there. Which he clearly did, so that was a bit of all right. "Hoping for something else?"

"Arthur," he purred the name like it was the finest whiskey, "you must know I'll take you in any finery you wish, or nothing but y-fronts and a smile." Eames smirked at the way Arthur's eyes narrowed. "Not that I think you'd ever stoop so low, darling."

"You're lucky I like you," Arthur replied, lips twitching into a charmingly lopsided smile despite himself. "If you buy me something pretty, I'll wear it when the album's done. Deal?"

Eames felt something like fireworks light up inside him, hot and fizzing and flowering. "That is absolutely a deal."

When Arthur kissed him again, he could feel the promise in it.

Eames let his hands roam over Arthur's body, pampered soft skin over firm muscle, his guitar-callused hands hardly fit to touch something so fine. Someone, a man of hidden depths and sharp wit, who was going to take what he wanted and stick around, unexpectedly. Delightfully. "How can I be of service, love?"

Arthur chuckled and bit his ear. "Get my pants off and eat me out. I want to lay back against the pillows and watch."

Eames moaned, shifted his grip, and showed off his hours in the gym a little bit by rolling them over carefully, settling Arthur against the pillows like the precious man he was. "As you wish," he teased, waggling his eyebrows and getting his knees underneath himself.

Arthur lay back and spread wider, looking every bit the smug bastard Eames had always known he was and secretly adored. "You've never been on a farm in your life."

"No, but I'd make a smashing dread pirate, wouldn't I?" Eames bantered right back, his hands sliding out from under Arthur's back to work his trousers off. He took a moment to hang them over a chair, getting an approving look from Arthur, and returned to bed with a couple of the decorative nonsense pillows to help prop Arthur up for the next part.

"I knew these had to have some reason to exist," said Arthur, shifting around until he was comfortable, legs lifted and spread, cock flush against his stomach and pink entrance on shameless display.

"Displaying you is the best reason." Eames kissed him before getting cosy right where he belonged, between the thighs of his new favorite power bottom.

"You're a pretty picture from up here," said Arthur. He ran fingers through Eames' hair and smirked. "You know what to do."

Eames didn't bother to answer; he had better things to do with his mouth. He started by brushing his lips and scruff over Arthur's pale inner thighs. Arthur sighed with pleasure, a very different sound from his sighs of annoyance or musical satisfaction or exhaustion. Soft licks and a few light nips got him a feel for Arthur's preferences, and then he made his way to Arthur's well-trimmed bollocks to give them a delicate tongue-bathing before he moved down to the main event.

Arthur was vocally appreciative, using his hands to direct Eames while his mouth ran off with swearing and praise, moans and half-spoken bits of what Eames thought might be poetry. Well, song lyrics, which were their own kind of poetry. He put it out of his mind and concentrated on the task at hand, lapping at Arthur's entrance, using his tongue to rasp over the tight furl, teasing without going inside. It wasn't until Arthur was practically tearing his hair out that Eames went further.

His thumbs spread Arthur wider, and Eames worked his tongue inward now, the tightness giving way to grasping heat that drew a moan from them both. Eames let himself drift on the repetitive pleasure of fucking Arthur with his tongue, deeper and shallower, harder and softer, with licks and kisses enough to keep his jaw from getting too sore. A little sore was to be expected, especially with someone so delightful to pleasure as Arthur was turning out to be.

Eventually Arthur tugged him away, and he wiped his mouth on the sheets before grinning up over the flushed arch of Arthur's erection.

"Fuck, that's so good, but I want you in me. Lube, fingers, now." Arthur looked magnificently wrecked already, flushed and sweating, his stomach wet with precome and his hair tangled against the pillows.

Eames purred, "Arthur, you can have anything you want when you look like this."

Arthur gave him a decidedly impatient look. "Get to it, then." He snagged the lube from where Eames pointed and handed it down, along with a condom. "Make it quick, I want to ride you."

"Your wish," said Eames, sliding two slick fingers into Arthur, deep and fast and hard, "is my pleasure, darling."

"Fuck, yeah it is," said Arthur, pressing down shamelessly.

Eames took a few breaths while his hand did the work, trying to tell his dick to wait its turn. "You're such a wanton thing. No wonder you make such beautiful music with all this passion hiding inside."

"Get on your back," said Arthur, looking both flattered and grumpy about the compliment. "I'm ready."

"Of course." Eames slid his fingers out and the condom on before laying himself out next to Arthur in the bed, snagging a single pillow for himself. "I'm all yours."

"Yeah, you are," said Arthur. He straddled Eames and smirked. "Your thighs are a meme now, you know," he said, getting Eames' cock in place and rubbing against the tip, teasing them both. "Thunder thighs."

"Mmm, I'm aware." Eames stayed very still, one hand curled at Arthur's trim waist and the other rubbing Arthur's strong thigh. "They clearly haven't been paying attention to your thighs, but your arse is very distracting."

Arthur chose that moment to lower himself down, making Eames' breath stutter and stop as he sank into Arthur's body, inch by exquisite inch.

Eames lost himself in it, the heat and tightness, slick and welcoming around him. He thrust up to meet Arthur in that last inch and got an approving sound, so he did it again and again as Arthur set up a hard rhythm. They'd had their slow start and Arthur was going all out, arching his back to get Eames where he wanted him, grinding his hips down to give Eames the same pleasures. Eames held his hips, watched his thighs tense and release, his abs bunching and glistening with the sweat of effort, of sex. Arthur's face, his gorgeous, often-scowling face, was absolutely entrancing in ecstasy.

It was quick and dirty and everything about it was perfect, even the moment when it was over, when he gave himself up to the sparking pleasure in his bollocks and let it bloom throughout his limbs, let it shake him apart and put him back together languid and grinning. Arthur huffed and used Eames' hand and still-hard cock to get himself off, taking little enough time that Eames could keep it up for the duration. He was sore and oversensitive when Arthur pulled off, but really, really satisfied.

"Bloody fucking hell, Arthur," said Eames between panted breaths. "That is a motif we can visit any time you like."

Arthur snorted and smacked his thigh. "Clean us up and then we can rest before round two. I want to see what you look like above me with my legs over your shoulders."

"Oh, petal, you are going to be the death of me," said Eames, but he forced his jellied muscles into motion, "and I'm going to die happy."

"As long as you're giving informed consent," teased Arthur, flopping back into the bed and shifting around until he was out of any annoying wet spots. Eames shot him a fond smile and got to the business of cleaning them up, pleased when Arthur allowed him to snuggle up for soft kisses while they both recovered.

"I swear, when the song's done you'll love the way it all weaves together," said Arthur, kissing Eames' sweaty hair.

Eames chuckled. "I'm sure I will, love. Ari wasn't wrong, not all of my frustration was musical in that moment."

Arthur laughed. "We'll make sure you're very relaxed before we go in tomorrow."

"See that you do." Eames snuggled up closer and contemplated how much better the recording sessions would feel when he wasn't coming back to a lonely hotel room and fantasies of Arthur looking at him like he was valuable. Like he was looking now.

* * *

Another languid fuck, a good night's sleep, a blowjob or two in the shower, and some lovely room service got them both ready to face the world and the inevitable teasing. They canoodled shamelessly in the cab on the way, little kisses and threaded-together fingers, conversation rambling on about nothing. They stopped at the cafe next door before heading in, getting a frothy sugary thing for Ariadne along with their own coffees.

"You really did it, fuck yeah," said Ari, taking a big slurp of her drink.

"We really did," said Eames. "You owe us dinner for your winnings."

"Somewhere nice," said Arthur. "Well, or that pizza place you won't share the number of."

"Ooh, yes, actually I vote pizza, we can stay in and tell you all about my night of worshipping Arthur's magnificent arse," said Eames, smirking at her little moue of distaste.

"You know, I thought I'd want to know, but it turns out, nope. No details required. But pizza is an easy one. We still have to watch the next Sharknado movie, anyway." She took her coffee back to her drum kit and said, "Eames. Wow me with your guitar solo so we can get this song wrapped and move on to the power ballad."

Eames took a big gulp of his own drink, a frothy latte made with something extra creamy that was the speciality of the house. "Caffeine, then genius," he protested, but he set his drink down to check the tuning.

"Are we ready to rock?" asked Arthur, bass settling against those narrow hips, just where Eames' hands had gripped last night.

Eames smirked, one more sip for the road before he pulled a guitar pick out of his pocket. "And roll, my darling."


End file.
